Archive of Our Own

He is met with only silence, like the inky blackness of his mind. He doesn't enjoy the feeling that he's being watched with no idea of why. But when nothing stirs he heaves a sigh and heads to the shower. He'll deal with the burning wall later. Maybe this time it'll stop burning on its own. He's sure his neighbor doesn't need an eyeful of all the wrong parts of him... again.

The spray of the shower falls against his wings, massaging them in a gentle off-putting sort of way. This form of cleanliness is not his favourite but it's quicker than a bath, and time is not a luxury he seems to have these days.

When he steps out sometime later, ruffling wet hair in a towel he isn't paying attention to where he's going, relying on muscle and spatial memory to get him to his closet so he can shove on a pair of shorts, at the very least. He doesn't have to be on guard in his apartment. It is protected with the near-impenetrable, anxiety-driven barriers Rhysand put up after the war. Nothing gets through without his permission.

The problem is, if he gives permission once... well it’s permanent. He really should have thought that one night stand through. Because now instead of burning passion, he has burning furniture.

His hip knocks into the side of the bed making him stumble a little. He frowns at the bred post through his floppy strands and rights himself, still trying to rub the water from his hair. He sees the shoe too late. Almost in slow motion his foot catches on the edge of it and then he is falling to the wooden floor, face first.

Three centimeters before his nose smashes to the ground, hands wrap around his waist.

"This is not what I meant when I told you to fall for me." A voice made of delight and smugness ripples across the room.

"Put me down Ashryver." He growls.

The hands at his hips drop, and his heart with it. They catch him again, as his nose brushes the floor. "You sure about that mon trésor?"

"Fuck you." He breathes, scrabbling up and moving out of his saviour's arms, and wrapping the towel around his noticeably naked form.

"You already did that pretty one," Aedion Ashryver smirks, "And as I recall you had a rather good time too."

"How do I ever put up with you?"

"You find me positively irresistible?" He suggests, eyebrows raised in an arrogant expression. It is perfect. It pisses Azriel off.

"Go away Ashryver." He mutters, turning around in pointed disregard.

The curtains billow, the wind is a phantom.

He turns around expecting the man to be gone, trying to ignore the annoying disappointment already flooding through him. He is greeted by the sight of Aedion, mere inches from his face. He can feel the body heat radiating from him. It's as warm as the flush on his cheeks.

Golden skin gleaming against the yellow light, the blonde reaches out a hand, spinning him back around until his back is pressed to Aedion's front. Fingers, cool and glittering with rings, dance at his throat.

Azriel can feel the warm breath at the nape of his neck. It sets off goosebumps in his blood.

"You sure you want me gone mon trésor?" That voice, the perfect shade of crimson and wildness, caresses his senses. "What if we have one more night?" Another hand, exploring fingers, trails across his torso, still bare. His brown skin pebbles in their wake.

"It's not a good idea," But he is breathless with anticipation. There is no conviction in his voice.

"We have never been a good idea." Aedion laughs quietly. "We have only ever been reckless and burning and everything and nothing all at once."

"And what if we can't be like that again?" His never ending fear. That all he had gained he will lose. He has already lost so much.

Instead of answering the man presses a finger to the pulse at his neck, and soft lips graze the sensitive spot behind his ear. His wings are spread wide, but nothing is touching them. Not his body. Not the other male's. Yet they ache for something.

Azriel holds in a gasp.

"Tell me what you feel mon trésor." It is as much an order as it is a request.

"Everything." He breathes.

Teeth tug at his ear lobe, head eased to the side for easier access. He cannot stop the sound that comes out of his mouth this time.

He feels Aedion smile against his skin. The hand on his torso is still creating art. His own hands are gripping the male's thighs. Anything to keep him upright.

Aedion turns him around, so they facing each other, with nothing but quiet wanting separating them.

"If you do not want it," The blonde says gently. "I will leave and we will be what we always were."

Azriel thinks about it, about the before of it all. How they were friends but not really, too busy dancing around the inferno of feelings between them. How they brushed against each other and it felt like his skin had turned to dust. How he let his ice blue eyes wander to those ocean blue ones and it felt like drowning in all that water.

He cannot go back to what they were. This thing between them scares him reckless. Makes him want to set himself on fire to keep the male warm. It is dangerous to feel so much all at once.

Aedion steps back, giving him space. The temperature drops twenty degrees in an instant. He is suddenly shivering with the loss of heat. He doesn't know where the wind is coming from. He is freezing. He is alone. And he knows he'll never be able to walk away from this.

"Come here." He says. It is soft but it is sure.

The blonde doesn't hesitate, stepping back into their circle.

"We are not alive long enough to pretend this doesn't exist."

"Yes," This time it's Aedion who is breathless.

"I want to spend as much time as I can pretending the world doesn't exist and we're the only people in it." He doesn't know if he's saying it right. He knows he can't say it wrong.

"When does the timer begin?" The blonde grins.

Azriel can't help but kiss the smile. "Now."

And as they fall to the bed a symbol burns into the floor. A. A.

Azriel and Aedion. The rose twines between the As, connecting them infinitely. The timer never stops.